


Winds somewhere safe to sea

by sophiahelix



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Gen, Yuletide 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things settle</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winds somewhere safe to sea

**Author's Note:**

> Yuletide 2005

We thank with brief thanksgiving  
Whatever gods may be  
That no life lives for ever;  
That dead men rise up never;  
That even the weariest river  
Winds somewhere safe to sea.  
\- Algernon Swinburne

 

Nick woke one morning in a castle by the sea and sat up for the first time in days. The salty air was fresh and clean, and instead of feeling like a sleepy bear, wanting to hibernate under a blanket of snow, he threw back the bedclothes and went to the window.

He was wearing strange clothing, he realized. Not at all like the striped silk pyjamas his mother had sent him at school, but some heavy, thick woolen garment, like an old man's nightshirt, that went to his knees. It was warm and red, though, and the leather slippers on the stone floor were warm too.

The air that poured in through the window as he opened it was freezing, but it was a bracing chill, driving away the fevered dream-figments that had been tangled in his head like cobwebs as he floated half-in and half-out of sleep. Nick had dreamt of terrible, terrible things, and he breathed in the sea air deeply, like a restorative draught.

There was a harbour below, sunshine dancing on the blue-green water. The land encircled the water like arms or jaws, and an enormous chain was wound up round a winch on one long, thin peninsula. Nick thought he would ask Sam about it -- Sam was clever, knew how mechanical things worked. It was one of the things he liked best about his friend, that the taint of his homeland had not addled his brain with superstitions.

Or, it had been one of the things. Nick had an uneasy feeling he was going to have to change a lot of things about the way he thought in the coming days.

There was a noise at the door, a quick knock on the heavy, iron-bound wood. He turned, feeling foolish in his night dress, as the door opened. He expected to see a familiar face but it was a veritable horde of servants, dressed in very queer clothing indeed, carrying food and hot water and what seemed to be an enormous copper bath.

Really, he thought, protesting as two women attempted to divest him of his nightshirt, everything was going to change.

***

The workshop had always been the refuge. When the other boys teased and Ellimere tattled, and later when the change from school to home was too much, Sam had always been able to escape into the busy minutiae of making toys. Their very frivolity had almost been the allure; princes did weighty work. A toymaker needed only to delight others with a bit of goldwork and magic, his only task to amuse.

Sam had spent the past year trying to escape a task that had never been his. The relief he'd felt at the House had been indescribable -- a wild, dancing freedom, a sense that at last he could do as he liked and never be bothered again. Even the small twinge of guilt he'd felt at seeing Lirael so grimly and readily take up his hated duties couldn't mar the sheer joy of being at liberty to be no more than Sameth.

The heavy ebony box on his workbench was evidence otherwise. It had been waiting for him when they returned from the lake, presumably passed on by one of the House sendings. It was dusty and smelled as if it had been sitting in some deep cellar for centuries, waiting. Waiting for him.

There were tools inside, he knew. He'd only opened the brass clasp for a moment, long enough to see several gold instruments of varying sizes neatly laid out in compartments and untarnished by time, and feel the strong, buzzing Charter magic before he quickly shut the lid again.

When he'd last been in this room, he thought, how quickly would he have reached for this box, giving back the hated green leather book in return? The dread that had gripped him in those months was unforgettable. To work above ground, in Life, with tools meant for his hands would have seemed sweet, a more than fair trade.

He'd seen where that could lead, though. He'd stood in the ring with the others, watched their lives and the fate of the world hover in the balance as they pitted their strength against a terrible evil. Orannis was bound, Mogget gone, but what would be the next great enemy they faced? This one had needed the bells; what if the next needed a Wall?

He wasn't meant for this, he thought fiercely, sudden tears stinging his eyes. The rest of his family -- Lirael too, it seemed -- had some sort of iron at their core, a will that carried them through their fear. They had been afraid, even his mother, but they had done what had to be done. And he could not. Everything they had been through showed that.

Sam picked up the box and lifted it off the workbench. It was surprisingly light; he should have known it would be. One couldn't haul around thirty pounds of magic tools when fighting evil. He opened a cupboard behind the door and put the box on the lowest shelf, pushing back some sheets of tin and copper he'd bought for some neglected project. There was wire there too, gold and silver, and he paused for a moment, thinking, before reaching for several coils.

He wasn't a Wallbuilder, not yet. Perhaps he never would be. But there was one thing still that Sameth knew how to do.

***

They had learned to leave her alone in the afternoon, now. Mornings were filled with tea and long walks and conversations, crammed with storytelling and reminiscing and laughter. She had found that Sabriel, the great and mighty, had a wicked sense of humor and a charming laugh, and that her daughter, heir to the kingdom's throne, was a perfect mimic and loved to tell tales out of history and her own life. Between the two of them Lirael was kept well-amused, and had learned much about palace life and her own family tree.

Strange to suddenly have a name for her father, pictures of grandfathers and grandmothers. Stranger still for them to be the among the greatest in the land, people in whose company she would have shivered just a few months ago. The urge to shiver still came upon her sometimes, and after a ride on horses on the beach (she was learning to ride a small, sturdy pony) or a tea with twenty of the court ladies her own age, there was nothing she wanted more than to escape somewhere quiet and alone.

Not quite true -- the thing she wanted most was a face she would never see again. The loss of the Dog still twisted at her heart when she thought about it. She missed the soft fur, the friendly licks, even Dog's terrible love of mischief that had almost caused so much trouble. She had a new family now, and friends if she wanted them, but it wasn't the same.

She missed the Glacier too, sometimes, and even a few of the librarians and her smaller cousins. The Clayr had been a maddening family, always aloof unless one were truly like them, but they had meant well and been the only family she had known. Eating meals with only five people at the long table in the hall, Touchstone joking with his daughter and Sam sulking at the other end, was nothing like crowding in with hundreds of other Clayr in the Refectory. The castle was lovely and immense but it was lacking the pure beauty of the Glacier, the glory of sun on snow, the shining planes of ice.

More, there was nothing for Lirael to do here. No one needed her, not even to catalogue dusty bestiaries or wash up after hungry traders. Quiet, black-cloaked servants did everything here, while the family had their own tasks; Touchstone and Ellimere were occupied with ruling, Sabriel with flying about the countryside to clean up messes, and Sam with -- whatever he did all day.

No job, no Dog, not even a clockwork mouse for company. The court ladies always looked at her so strangely. It was enough to make a girl want to strike out on her own, a bandolier across her breast, and find out more about her heritage. At least she would be doing something besides this endless waiting.

***

Nick made his way down to the lower parapet at sunset, after a quiet afternoon alone. It was lovely to no longer fear the dark. He saw a figure pacing restlessly and recognized Lirael. Lirael who had, it seemed, risked so much and tried so hard to save him, when he had been determined to destroy himself.

She stopped when she saw him and smiled, hesitantly. She was twisting her hands together, he noticed, and it was good to realize he was not the only one out of place here.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello, Nick," she said quietly. "It's good to -- see you up. Have you seen Sam?"

He shook his head. "I'm still... adjusting."

She smiled again, less hesitantly. "It's strange, isn't it? Being here. Where we don't belong."

"I think you do belong," he said quietly. "Something about you... "

She looked out to the sea. "Someday," she said. "It will be a long time."

An impulse rose in him and he reached out to take her hand. He had forgotten, and jumped at the touch of cold metal.

She raised her hand, wonderingly, and it shone in the starlight. It was beautifully wrought of gold and silver wire, and he gasped.

"How -- what -- where did that come from?" he asked.

"Sam," she said. "I didn't know how to thank him."

Nick smiled, suddenly filled with hope. "I think you'll find a way. I think things will be all right, eventually."

"Eventually," she said, and she allowed him to take her hand, cold against his warm skin but solid and strong.


End file.
